Impersonator Waltz
by ela-chan
Summary: Ayame's vulnerable and Hatori's confused. Shigure is violent and Tohru is worried. Akito has something planned and only Rin knows. What does the Jyunnishi God intend for them?
1. Eschscholtzia’s Coquetry

**Impersonator Waltz**

Chapter One

_Eschscholtzia's Coquetry_

_--_

_

* * *

_

--

A lone rose petal sailed languidly through the wind's hair, dipping and tilting lazily with its current. Its surface, miraculously, reflected the grey afternoon sky to a point that it seemed it was a piece of forgotten glass, or iced over tears a lover had left behind. The aroma of the air smelt faintly of incense and impeccably-aged red wine, pleasant to the senses, but despairingly sorrowful for one man.

A bowed head was against the winter's breath, silken strands of pure silver being tossed about, like a gypsy from selfish man to selfish man. His tears did not linger to trail down his cheeks, but they became air-borne, like the rose petal, through the fine curtain of hair and with the wind, dispersing soon after. It seemed like a long time that he sat there, alone, still and weeping. It seemed a longer time that he waited, alone, forgotten, and weeping. It seemed the longest that he hoped, however, piece by piece dying, fragment by fragment fraying. It was another assured promise broken, and Ayame was not sure that he could hold his head up this time around.

'Ha-san ...' he whispered, his voice like an ancestral echo, trinket-like and so breakable. 'Ha-san ...'

With a strangled cry, his head whipped up, revealing the flawless face of a near-broken human, flushed, despite the biting cold. His lips contorted into a grimace as his heart throbbed violently, endlessly for a returned love he had ached for so long. He knew that he was being selfish, even beginning to think that Hatori had forgotten about him. He knew that the Dragon's schedule was always so demanding, yet he could not help but possess the inexorable desire of taking up all of his time.

Tears tumbled in their thousands from his now-darkening eyes, freely caressing the cheeks he longed Hatori would lovingly hold in his hands. Emotions of such richness bubbled vigorously within him, like a poison cauldron, heating him through and through from inside then out. It was a choking, grating feeling, a strangling feeling, a feeling he could never get rid off even if he attempted to do so with such determination. But no matter the honest tries he offered, its fruits were failure and disappointment ... just like he was to Hatori.

Useless.

A hammer-like blow caught him around the chest, forcing him to clutch the front of his garments, stricken, and unprepared. He could feel himself preparing for a transformation, and Hatori was still not there. It was a sure fact that he could not make it back to his shop by the time his snake form caught up with him. As panic ensued within, a thought came to play its role. Hatori would not leave him out here, knowing what the cold did to his body. Hatori would not give up on him as everyone had resorted to doing. Hatori would not look at him with cold eyes, disgusted at his carelessness. Hatori wouldn't ... Hatori _wouldn't ..._

Ayame bolted from his seat, skin prickling. It was a strange transformation, he fleetingly thought, but oddness was the furthest worry from his mind. With legs trained with stealth and precision, he sprinted around the bench and made for his shop, eyes blurring, heart aching and mind reeling. A piece of crumpled, stained paper escaped from his grasp, but he did not notice. It fluttered behind him, like a part of his shattered wings left behind. Markings could still be read on it, amidst the tears.

_Ayame._

_Beneath the sakura.__ Noon. Don't be late._

_Hatori._

_--_

* * *

--

Lethargic. Exhausted.

'Shigure, what do you wa –'

A punch to the face. Stoic Hatori was caught off guard.

'_That's _what I want.'

Punched Hatori looked up through his bangs, eyes momentarily crossed. Pain jetted through his cheek and behind his head where he had landed on. Confusion travelled through him the same way, and eventually, so did anger. It was only so much that Hatori Sohma could take without snapping.

'All right. Before I punch you back, why did you just decide to do what you did?'

Shigure was beyond furious. His eyes seemed to contract a form of undiscovered electricity, and it showed through the way his fly-away black hair almost crackled. It was no fun and games this time.

'Do you know who just came to me this afternoon?'

_Like a vulture,_ Hatori sparingly thought amidst the onslaught of bright things behind his eyelids. _That's what he's like right now. Annoying, pesky vulture I'd like to hurt. _He was about to remark sarcastically what wrong pill he had given Shigure to cause these kinds of reactions, but before he could, he was punched again, this time harder.

'Selfish _ingrate,_' Shigure seethed through gritted teeth, fine sprays of spit ricocheting through the air. His mouth was contorted in an ugly snarl, making him appear akin to a feral animal of some sort. His bending form looked to belong to a murderer's right then, hunched, trembling and hot. Heat was rushing through him madly, passionately, and it was all he could do from literally reducing Hatori to a fleshy ball of blood.

The punched recoiled. It was quite a task to swallow the many cries he wanted to emit, from pain, confusion and the steadily building anger. His long hand cupped his twice-pain-inflicted jaw, and he too was quivering, like a leaf caught in a storm. From his emotions, from his lethargic body, he himself did not know. Hatori desired to speak, to cry out, but his attempts resulted fruitless as a terrible ache assaulted the lower segment of his face, rendering him completely speechless. He rested his good eye on the still fuming Shigure, feeling trapped.

'You left him?' the Dog howled, flailing long arms wildly in the air, like a broken windmill's planks. He began pacing in a frantic manner about the cluttered office, eyes darting spasmodically, feet altering directions every nanosecond. He looked ridiculous, but Hatori dared not jest. 'You _left _him. You _left him!_ You _left him out there._ Shameless son of a – _you left him!_'

'Yes, all right, you've established that much,' Hatori managed sourly, hauling himself from the ground with both hands, experiencing great difficulty. His jaw painfully rung with pain, but even then, he could not grimace. 'I'd like to know why you've barged into my office, like you always do, and punched me twice in the face, like you never do.'

Shigure desisted his pacing and whirled to face Hatori, traditional attire swishing about his ankles. Even though the older could not see, he knew that hands were tightly balled in those sleeves, ready to strike again if the desire took him. He had only ever seen Shigure this furious twice before, and both those times it involved deaths and his editor. It was unlikely, however, that this time there had been a death and Hatori did not know about it. What, then? What was it that made Shigure resort to violence?

'I want an explanation, Shigure, or out you get.'

Those sharp eyes blazed, and for a moment, Hatori blinked longer than necessary, expecting another blow. But as his eyes fluttered open, he saw that Shigure's expression had changed. It was now pity that resided within those eyes, condescending, and disgust. Hatori fleetingly thought that having himself punched again would have been a gentler punishment. He despised being looked down upon.

'You're acting like nothing's happened,' Shigure said, voice calm and low and smooth, like an injured ripple on a stream from a bird's claw. 'Like nothing's happened. Why, Hatori? He waited for you there. He waited so long … but you never came.'

Hatori's brows contracted. Confusion. Empty. Pieces straying.

'_Who _waited?'

Shigure's eyes narrowed. Suspicion. Doubt. Pieces coming together.

'Ayame. _Aya_ waited. He waited for _you_ for _three hours_, Hatori. Three hours he sat on that park bench, in the _middle_ of a snowfall, _crying_ because you didn't come.'

Hatori stared, then hollered.

'_He did what?!_'

'Oh, now the fucker reacts,' Shigure spat, nostrils flaring.

'Shut up, Shigure,' came the snap. A hand encircled roughly around a covered arm, and Hatori dragged out Shigure, the pain in his jaw the last thing on his mind.

'Take me to Ayame. Now.'

He continued to haul Shigure out of his house, determined. But it seemed Shigure had other things on his mind. With an enraged yell, he wrenched himself from the Dragon's iron-like clasp and threw himself at the older man, hands itching to claw out whatever he could.

Pictures and bright colours darted around Hatori's sight as the sudden pain of being smashed against the floor registered in his mind. He could feel every pulsing throw Shigure pounded into him, and he could taste a coppery rawness on his tongue. Blood was in his mouth, and bruises were sure to dot his body in the morning.

They struggled violently on the cold floor, one stubborn, the other near desperate for relief. Ill-aimed punches caught Hatori in the face, neck and chest, each blow knocking the wind out of him over and over again. The random defensive throw he returned got the other in the shoulder, doing next to no damage. It seemed Shigure intended to beat him until he died, but Hatori would not have it. With an insane burst of strength, he seized the other's shoulders, throwing him back effectively, and straddled him with a firmness he did not know he possessed, eyes sparking with animosity and disoriented thought.

'Stop, stop, _stop_. Damn it, Shigure!'

The other chanced another punch, narrowly missing Hatori's nose. The fist sailed swiftly passed him, hot air slashing at his skin like a newly wielded blade. The man on top kept a firm hold on the other's trembling shoulders while Shigure writhed and growled beneath him. The Dog spat many colourful words at him, apparently not keen on backing down. The Dragon intended otherwise, and crushed his lips against Shigure's.

That caught him absolutely off guard, and it was no surprise that all movement desisted in an instance. Hatori let his lips linger there for a moment longer, wanting to be sure that he could talk without being swiped at. Slowly, he lifted his lips and opened his eyes. The sight which met him was expected: angry, but surprised eyes, and an odd expression, (or lack thereof) that unsettled him.

'Now will you let me speak?'

Shigure spat in his face and hissed, '_Traitor._'

'I never betrayed you or Ayame. For one, I don't know what you've been yelling about for the past half an hour. Two, those punches of yours were unnecessary when you could have approached me assertively. And three, I have no clue, absolutely none, about the story you've spewed, literally, in my face.'

Shigure proceeded to glare at him.

'I'll let you go, but you have to promise that you won't throw another punch.'

Shigure spat in his face.

Hatori punched him.

'You know you deserved that.'

'_You_ know _you_ deserved that.'

A sigh. A tired, non-committed, exhausted sigh.

'Please, Shigure. We won't get anywhere. Please, I beg you. Be civil, and I'll do whatever you want. Just … _stop_ punching.'

He was going to spit at him again, but this time Hatori clamped a hand over his mouth, effectively withdrawing a glare from him. Both men were feeling intense emotions, and neither felt like showing himself to be weaker. Two sets of similar eyes pierced each other relentlessly, full of hatred for things beyond their control, and many other emotions, like pity, and guilt.

Then, a jolly voice, a bubbly voice that made Hatori and Shigure freeze.

'Ha'ri! Ha'ri, I'm going over to Yuki's place, okay? Tohru promised –'

A growing boy topped with golden locks stopped dead. A pair of eyes blinked, blinked, and then blinked again. A brow raised itself, and immediately a fist stuffed itself into his mouth to prevent a sudden rush of giggles from coming through. As expected, he failed abysmally, and allowed himself to burst into gales of laughter.

'Momiji,' the doctor warned, carefully pealing himself off Shigure, knowing the other would not depict himself as being the violent one in front of a minor. He waited for a moment for the younger counter to regain half-control of himself. 'Momiji, go to Yuki's. Shigure and I have things to discuss.'

Momiji nodded jerkily and turned, shoulders trembling acutely. He walked out of the house as calmly as he could, fist in mouth still, and sprinted all the way to Shigure's household, nursing an aching stomach due to ill-kept hilarity.

Both men watched as the young boy fled. As the dot that was Momiji Sohma disappeared, they slowly turned toward the other, tensely. The atmosphere altered with a drastic measure, from awkward, to thick, then to a hybrid of pitying exasperation. Even though both men were in close proximity of one another, they felt a starved distance between them, like a rotting cavity in the molar, putrid and staining, ugly. It was very seldom that a situation such as this would be faced by them, and much more seldom that it would involve them both in unison. The silence choked them, like leather strips around the neck, becoming tighter and tighter as the seconds fell slowly by, like freezing raindrops.

Finally, Shigure spoke, voice like frayed salty ice tossed into a flame.

'I won't take you to Aya. You're the last person he'll want to see.' Eyes straight ahead, relentless, stubborn. Lips dry, chalked. Face stoic. Dying pulse in his heart, anger fading away with a slowness that could be considered dead. Pity. Guilt. Feeling of betrayal. Unfair … unfair … unfair.

'He needs medical attention. You know how bad it is for him when it's this cold.' Ill-disguised pleading. Low voice, like the bottom of an ocean. Misunderstanding. Help. Caught, like an animal. Breaths slow and controlled. Body heat abnormally high. Confusion.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, one asking, the other refusing to answer. Shigure turned away and walked with composed steps toward the door, sad eyes trailing the patterned ground. Like a funeral march.

'So do you, Hatori.'

He disappeared out the door, the click that came from it sounding like a bomb's switch.

--

* * *

**--**

**.end goes chappie one.**


	2. Clover White’s Broken Promise

**Impersonator Waltz**

Chapter Two

_Clover White's Broken Promise_

_

* * *

_

--

An infinite count of silken nylon threads coloured with silver was splayed euphorically against a fine embroidery piece of black cotton, like stars that were strokes of a pen, drizzling the naked sky. Tufts of whispery hair caressed his feverish cream of skin, touch like a lover's, making Ayame turn in his sleep, sub-consciously hypnotised and fooled. The air he inhaled was stifling, as though he were laying at the bottom of a well being heated by the fires of hell. Despite being beneath four layers of cloth, he still felt the creeping, frozen murmurs of a chill grope him around the neck. Ayame was dreaming a nightmare, and he tossed and turned, slowly making each layer of cloth fall away, dripping off like the last droplets from a waterfall in purgatory.

Many images were assaulting him, invisible fingers reaching out and reaching in. A horror movie of some sort replayed over and over in his mind, as though it were a broken filmstrip left in its projector, always depicting the same image of pain and longing to a person bound in a chair. Ayame tossed violently, wrenching a muscle in his lower back. He cried out, but it was not the sudden pain of the pulled tissue which made him do so. Cries for help were slowly drowning him, covering his mouth so he couldn't speak, plugging his nose so he couldn't breathe, and plastering his eyes so he couldn't find a way out. No one was going to save him anymore.

It seemed almost impossible that one person could withstand such onslaughts of inhuman torture, but Ayame Sohma was living proof that such a task could be done, even though the heart was wrenched open and minced. Love was pain, he usually said jovially to one of the Sohma teenagers undergoing a love-hate crisis with a crush. He never foresighted that one day he would experience this first hand, first heart, and first fall.

A hiss. '_Ayame_ …'

His lashes dug into his skin like rusted razors as his eyes tightened together with force. Unknown faces flashed in his dreams; black, then red, then white, then black again. His mouth whispered words, light as a feather, but baring the weight of a black heart. Like the awakening dead, his arms thrashed. It looked as though he had been thrown into an ocean infested with devils. An ocean made with watery fires instead of watery deluge. The consistency of the matter engulfed him, first his feet, then waist, then his shoulders, then finally his face, and it was his eyes that saw the skies last … the skies, showing the smirking face of Hatori Sohma.

'_Hatori!_'

Things cricked unpleasantly in his neck as he sat bolt upright, eyes open and overly bright, breathing erratic and short, skin drenched in a sickly sweat. He was shaking, trembling like a child before a whip, frail and afraid. With instinct, he fell back heavily and curled back up in foetal position, insecure and empty, betrayed. It was all coming back now, and Ayame wished it hadn't. He wished it left him alone. He wished it to be peaceful. He wished it was three years ago, when things weren't so tangled and destroyed, like the aftermath of God's long overdue vengeance.

Spindly fingers grasped the material beneath, scrunching it up in distorted patterns. A strange coldness was trickling slowly through him, like a faucet left on for much too long, the post-shocks of his transformation back. He looked pious, chaste right then, curled amidst fine sheets of covering, innocent and safe, almost child-like.

But he was not. He was not pious, nor was he chaste. He was not innocent or child-like, and most certainly not safe. Ayame felt as though grating fingers were upon his face, slowly scratching off bits of him that were imperfect, ugly, things that were insufficient to Hatori. With these thoughts, he whimpered pitifully. Without his consent, his nails dug into his flesh, ready to drag themselves down his face.

'Ayame!'

Arms were around his wrists in an instant, the grip tight and stunned.

'Why are you doing this to yourself? It's stupid and _you're not stupid._ You shouldn't be so … shouldn't be so … _Stop this_ …'

Shigure rested his forehead against his companion's, drawing Ayame closer to him. His long fingers still encircled the other's heated wrists, hold still in place and unwilling release. Ayame batted half-heartedly at him, muttering incoherent phrases, body language plainly pleading for Shigure to let him go and hold him all at once.

The silver-crowned man felt the phantom of déjà vu tickle him, one that had been born a decade ago. It was he, however, who comforted the person when he had cried. It was he who held the broken man in his arms, saying words that would soothe and heal. It was he was who was not hurt so terribly back then. It was he this time who was being comforted, for so many different reasons.

'Shigure …' he whispered, tracing saliva across his chalked lips as they settled in a comforting embrace. 'Shigure, he didn't lie to me, did he? He was probably busy, ne? Busy, right? His schedule … appointments, interviews?'

Shigure felt the hairs on the back of his head being pulled as Ayame gripped him there, desperate for consent. It was as though Ayame clung to him in white fear of seeing the execution of a lover, cheeks stained with tears, like the axe would be with blood in a moment's time. This seemed to be the daunting picture playing in Shigure's mind, and he cursed himself for being subconsciously sardonic and heartless at such a crucial time. He gripped Ayame's slight form tighter, swearing an oath to himself that if ever Hatori repeated such a stunt as he had, there would be more than a few punches thrown.

'Ayame … Ayame, are you hungry? I'll get something for you, okay?' Voice so soft, so velvet-like. One could drown in the rapturous coating of silk and gentle caresses. Like sleeping in an angel's whisper, never to wake or die or hurt or love.

'Did you cook it?' He mumbled miserably.

'No, Tohru would have.'

'That's all right, then.'

Despite things, Shigure barked with laughter. The sound was pleasant and painful to Ayame's ears. With no hesitation, he brought himself a little away form Shigure and kissed the other man's cheek, gratified and contrite. A tiny smile crept inconspicuously at the corner of Ayame's lips, hoping not to be seen. Shigure mirrored this gesture, relieved at seeing the other man, even if so faintly, so briefly, content. It was okay that Ayame was not happy right now. It was expected. Shigure expected him not to be happy. It was okay.

They extricated themselves from the embrace, allowing their arms to loosely touch each other, breaths mingling, faces close, a brotherly distance. Their noses almost touched.

'I'll be right back, all right?' He let go of Ayame, allowing the Snake to settle back into his comforts. His voice was gentle, almost fatherly. The hard glint in his eyes, however, did not acquiesce to this notion. 'Don't push yourself too hard, else I might have to spank you.'

Ayame chuckled dryly, his mind in a delusional waltz.

'Hai.'

With a lost look, Shigure left the room.

--

* * *

--

Shadows of ballerinas and clowns dotted the walls of the Doctor's mind. Hatori aimlessly twirled a calligraphy pen between his lithe fingers, watching dazedly as the strange shadows it created formed peripheral flowerets, mirroring in his thoughts. The black figures imbed themselves in his currently impressionable mind, moulding themselves into faces of unknown and known. A black, translucent finger curled and formed full lips. The lips separated into two, revealing a row of long teeth. The teeth twinkled at him, as though winking. Hatori blinked once and the visions fled.

He had been stationery for the last few hours, seated on the hard floor where Shigure had left him. It felt like only a few minutes had whizzed by, like bees on a flawless summer's day. He did not think, merely let idle thoughts and farfetched notions to drift hazily across his mind, like unaware children in a lake infested with piranha. His legs were crossed Indian-style, both long limbs already numb from the constant pressure. The winds from across the open windows swirled around him in blunt torrents, thin dust forming vague ringlets as nature's breath weaved and did wonders. One could say that the corridor was comfortable, even a little nippy. Yet, judging by the sheen of perspiration at the nape of Hatori's neck, it was otherwise.

Ayame had waited, Shigure had said. For three hours, in a snowfall.

He backed it all up with punches and phlegm. Why would Shigure lie?

Ayame had waited for him, Shigure had said. Crying.

When did Ayame ever cry? It was always smile, smile, laughter. Never tears.

Hatori shook his head tiredly and slumped back, resting on the wall. His eyes fluttered shut, lashes intertwining like lovers' fingers. A faint blush dusted across the sculpted hallows of his cheeks, the only indication of his currently unhealthy balance of thought and lie. Sleep was about to claim him with a greedy tongue before a voice snuck up on him, like a tiger prowling around the trapped prey.

'Oh …'

The tone was thoughtful, observant.

'Why is my poor Dragon sad?'

Mocking. Slow. Smooth. Poison.

'Hmm … you shouldn't work so hard, Hatori. It's bad for your health.'

_Not really concerned, are you? Always lying. Exasperation and playtime with fire. _

'You shouldn't be out of bed, Akito.'

Frighteningly frail hands cupped Hatori's face, frigid and spider-like. The Dragon had the urge to flinch away, disgusted with the touch, but then remembered conveniently that Akito disliked rejection, often retaliating with a strength no one would expect from such a little thing. He would do well to ride the wave in fear of crashing, rather than leaping into the water without fear of dying. An eerie tingle crawled behind his eyes as Akito's fingers traced the scar near his healed wound.

'You're much too pretty to be sad, Hatori …'

Temperature surge, temperature plummet.

'Being sad is too tiring. It won't do you any good. Pretty soon you'll cry, too. And what would crying solve, Hatori? The problem is still there when the tears stop. Pity is scarce these days, especially from the ones you love.'

A stinging pain as Akito slapped him mockingly jolted Hatori from the hypnotised state, like a rape victim reminded constantly of his imprisonment by the whip.

'It's much too late for you to be up, Akito.' Business-like tone as he withdrew from her hold. His long frame towered over her, disapproving face looked down. Akito looked instantly annoyed, arms crossing defiantly, like a child deprived of her ridiculous desires.

'I don't need a second mother,' came the indignant hiss. But nevertheless, the younger was led away, slowly, with much dragging. It was strange that Akito kept her famous temperament that frightened everyone under control. A first thing, a novel thing, perhaps? Who would know?

'Promise to be happier, Hatori?'

The words wafted in the air like the plucked bloody wings of a black butterfly.

'Yes, Akito.'

The Doctor watched as Akito wrenched herself from his grasp and walked with much dignity back to where she had come from, steps light and effeminate. Kureno waited for her, and led her back inside, hand placed affectionately around her thin waist. Hatori's eyes showed no reaction or emotion as the shorter shadow that was Akito stood on its tiptoes, unmistakably to receive an equally affectionate kiss. It was no surprise to him, but what was a surprise was that he found his mind discreetly thinking that Ayame would not need to stand on his toes to kiss him. They were almost of equal height, Hatori being taller by a pathetic few centimetres. This fleeting, sinister thought was greeted by a slight widening of the eyes from Hatori.

He needed sleep. Badly.

With steps that greeted the ground coldly, he walked back, long hands jammed into pockets, almost afraid that they would start trembling.

--

* * *

--

An unforgiving glint of shining teeth in the darkness. A long reed, filled with ready, black ink. A piece of yellowing vellum scented with jasmine and rose tears. A sense of honest trickery in the thick air, adrenaline painted and doused. Faint light from the chars in the fireplace, still aglow, bathing the moonlight kissed room in an eerie, ghost-like essence. Like an image from a fairytale gone awry.

_Ayame._

_Deepest apologies from my regretful heart.__ My schedule pressed me and I could not see your face. I beg forgiveness, if this amendment pleases you. I wish another meeting. Noon, at the same place. _

_Hatori._

Widening sneer. Meticulously folded paper, sealed with a fake kiss. Reed left wet with ink, hanging off the corner of the cluttered desk. Disappearance … room left warmer.

--

* * *

--

The paper whispered as it was placed beside the silver-crowned head. The house was silent as two hours after midnight approached. The hand touched the sleeping form of the Snake lightly, like the caress of a sharpened blade. The figure recoiled into the darkness, and disappeared from the house, footsteps quiet, as though padded with human hair ripped from an unknowing scalp.

When Ayame awoke, the letter would be the first thing he would see.

The bomb ticked on.

--

* * *

**--**

**.end goes chappie two.**


	3. Roses Burning

**Impersonator Waltz**

Chapter Three

_Roses Burning_

* * *

The early morning wore on as beautiful and precious as a fresh crystal's winks. Strips of pleasant wind laced themselves leisurely around the arms of slumbering trees, searching for peace and settlement. It was a lovely mid-winter atmosphere, with no one but Ayame Sohma to enjoy. That is, if he _was _enjoying it. As it appeared, joy could not be further than it was right then, like the dew a dying bird craved, twittering for it with its last tweet.

He was by an open window, fully awake, prominent elbow against the bottom sill and chin propped on the back of his long hand. Eyes of golden dust peered with an intense curiosity at the moon as it hung in the bare sky, sleepily, tauntingly. The slight breeze toyed with the loose strands that escaped his equally loose bun, held up half-heartedly by a long, worn quill: Shigure's favourite. He sighed emptily and switched position with quiet grace, allowing himself to cross his arms on the sill, chin now resting on them. The painted surface of it was pleasant against Ayame's skin and he savoured the loveliness, thinking that something so small, and yet so pleasurable, could just be at hand's reach. Unlike other things, drifted a rueful thought.

'I told you to go to sleep, Aya. When will you learn to listen?' Scolding, playful.

It was Shigure. Sweet, sweet Shigure.

'You told me to rest, Shigure. And you should know by now that I don't listen.'

'Yes, that's true.'

Ayame wanted to turn around and see him smile, except … he didn't want to see happiness right now, even though the intensity of it matched that of a dead firefly. Footsteps padded softly against the floor, nearing him. Ayame blew at the hairs in front of his eyes, beginning to feel drowsy from the combination of exhaustion and the wind's consistent licks against his cheeks.

'You listen to Hatori.' Shrugged off, like it was nothing.

Ayame _felt_ that, just as much as he would feel a physical whip. He recoiled into himself just a little more, dropping his shutters over his eyes that little bit. Wind invaded them from the distance, tousling their hairs, bringing with it random tears of the sky. It seemed it had began drizzling outside, a shy greeting of nature to those asleep. Drips of it folded themselves in their crowns of strands, settling there like raw diamond fragments. Fragments, shattered little pieces of things too sharp to mend.

'The wound still gapes, Shigure. Don't throw your salt.' Dryly, miserably.

Shigure settled somewhere beside him, first gazing at Ayame's troubled face, and then toward the sky blanketing their Earth. His eyes were solemn, and secretive.

'I wouldn't dream of it.'

Ayame smiled a humourless smile; one Shigure cared to notice to be often as of late. A little silence beheld them. It was a calming silence, something a little different for them, compared to recent times. Shigure couldn't help the frequent darting of his eyes toward Ayame. Everytime he expected him to break down and cry hysterically, Ayame was still, quiet, peaceful, almost content. It was impossible, disquietening.

'Shigure?'

The called turned. Ayame stared on. He was in another world, a forgotten world, like mannequin in a once-glamorous antique shop. The wind blew again. Ayame's hair swayed to a delusional waltz.

'Shigure, someone's here to see you.'

It was Tohru at the Study door, peering anxiously at Ayame and inquiringly at Shigure. She shivered obviously in her skirt and thick skivvy. The rosy splodges on her cheeks looked enchanting, Shigure decided. Her thick, shining hair was out again, no doubt having defied the purpose of yet another elastic band. Shigure smiled wanly as he stood, suspecting things involving his two younger cousins.

'Don't bother telling me – I know who it is.'

He patted her head as he walked by, touch reassuring. The air warmed up as he stepped out of the room.

'You can go inside. He's a little better now,' he added as a kind whisper, knowing how much she wanted to comfort Ayame, even though she didn't know the full extent of the damage. Tohru nodded jerkily and stepped inside, closing the door quietly as both persons decided their routes.

Shigure's smile grew to an almost Cheshire cat grin as he neared the door, giddily contemplating whether blowing up the situation to an impossible, ridiculous turn and worrying Tohru senseless would be as amusing as punching Hatori –

_Hatori._

Shigure's momentary happiness dissipated instantly the moment he opened the door, like a lover blowing at the cigarette plumes.

'Pretty hickey,' was his immediate comment, eyeing the multi-coloured creations Hatori sported on his jaw with a half-availing innocent expression. A sadistic smile tickled the edges of his lips, like poison caramel, defeating his child-like aim. Shigure crossed his arms, stiffly stepping aside to let the visitor through. The Doctor squeezed in, being extra careful to keep Shigure-contact to an absolute minimum.

'Yes, they're pretty _big_, actually. I forgot to ask if you wanted one.'

Shigure rolled his eyes, meaning for Hatori to see that the jest was not appreciated. His hair, however, fell about his eyes at the exact time and all Hatori got was the unappreciative snort that accompanied the eye-roll. The Doctor returned with a grunt of his own.

'Where's Ayame?' Hatori said, more statement than question. He began walking toward Shigure's study without waiting for an answer. A thin briefcase was clutched in his right hand, one that, Shigure noticed with narrowed eyes, was being clasped with a white-knuckled grip.

He was nervous. Bastard.

'I believe I remember saying that you're not welcome here.'

Hatori's steps slowed. He did not turn around.

'And I believe I forgot to say that I don't give a _fuck.'_

_Oh, he swore_, drifted the amused thought across the Dog's manipulative mind. _He's really worked up about this. I wonder if I should toy around with him for just a little while longer._

'I believe he said you're not welcome here.'

It was Yuki. Hatori turned his head a little to the right. The Rat was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, bangs askew, eyes alight. Kyo stood stoically behind him, visage expressionless, but his open-close fists said it all.

Indeed, Hatori was not welcome.

'He needs medical attention,' he said, standing behind, or rather, hiding behind his words. 'You all know that. I'm the family doctor therefore I have the right to –'

'Right now, Hatori, you don't have the _right_ to wipe anyone's ass.'

The Doctor was silenced effectively, out of shock or out of intimidation, he himself did not know. His bangs obscured his eyes.

Shigure was lightly amused by the situation. He had never heard Yuki reduce himself to talking down to the Doctor. It was usually Kyo who –

'So get out already. Fucking liar.'

Oh, there it was.

Hatori turned to Shigure, one last pleading spark in his good eye. The rest of his face was blank. His hands were damp with sweat. It was so uncharacteristic, but then again, it was uncharacteristic of Ayame to stay in the snow on purpose.

'You heard the little kids, Doctor.' Shigure smiled a sarcastic smile. 'Get out.'

Hatori looked at Shigure fully, inspecting every sign he collected from all the years they had been friends. The slight upturn of his lips when he was calling a bluff; it wasn't there. The twinkle in his eyes when the joke was going his way; it wasn't there. Folded hands behind his back when he thought it was funny… it wasn't there.

'All right.' Hatori kept his cool. He walked to the door. Right beside Shigure. He could feel the burning eyes of the younger men etch their anger into his back, like floating boiled rocks against the flesh. The words he whispered made the unseen smile inShigure's mind become all the wider.

'Just … tell him … I didn't know.' No answer. 'All right?'

He stepped outside, hot feet sizzling the snow, like fire eating a rope, consuming it, nearing the inevitable explosion. Coldness assaulted him, but he was sure it was not the snow.


	4. Purple Hyacinth’s Mockery

**Impersonator Waltz**

Chapter Four

_Purple Hyacinth's Mockery_

* * *

'Well, the party's over, kiddies. Go back to your homework.' Pretty voice. A dismissive flap of a long hand. Already simmering batter of thoughts thickening up. 

Yuki's hair, like shaped lavender dust, still obscured his eyes, peculiar shadows causing an eerie effect. It was the slight curling at the corner of his lips, however, which gave away his thoughts. It was like watching a painter slash black across a renaissance beauty, helpless to stop the cold hand.

'It's Saturday, Shigure.'

'Over-the-weekend homework, then. Extra credit. Suck-up things. Whatever. Move along.' Unperturbed. Still dismissive. Almost impatient.

'It's holiday break, you moron,' Kyo drawled out, rolling those infamous eyes of his. With an impatient, superior grunt, he turned on his heel and marched out of the room. They listened to his foot stomps irritate the floorboards, _creak creak crunch_. Up the stairs he went. The sound of the door slamming rang in Yuki's ears, head still against the doorframe.

Shigure did not so much as bat an eyelid. It wasn't his concern, the mood swings of his little relatives. He wouldn't worry himself sick because of it. Right now, petty teenage tantrums were at the bottom of his worry list.

Besides, he didn't have any current business with his younger cousins. He didn't have to care.

With a cheery chuckle and a ruffle of Yuki's locks, he made his way back to his Study, an extra spring in his step. His traditional garbs floated around his feet with renewed regality, as though they were made of a kind of silk which did not burn in fires of Hell. He was happy about something. Something … different.

'It's Ayame's fault, isn't it? The way things are between you and Hatori.'

Shigure steps slowed but he didn't stop or turn around. His smile wavered, just a little.

'He was stupid, and you know it. He lets himself go too many times, not caring of the consequences.' He raised a long finger, resting it on the part of the doorframe near his haunting eyes. 'It's happened before, right? It's happened before.' He began scratching at the wood, ears deaf to the mute screams of the splintering bark. 'Yet you're all ready to put the blame on Hatori.'

That smile of Yuki's tingled a little, climbing up his face, like a cut-in-half maggot.

'I used to hide behind things, too, Shigure. I was about eleven or twelve then. I still do sometimes, but …' – a wry smile – 'I can be excused.' His fingers began tracing the doorframe, a hypnotic dance filled with sinful sensuality. His voice took on an awkward tone, an odd tone, as though a silk blanket of schizophrenia covered him. '"_Age holds hands with wisdom, wisdom with will, and will with righteousness_."'

Shigure halted by the door of his Study, hair covering what could be subtle interest within those glimmering eyes. Something oddly slimy crawled up his back, causing all sorts of sensations within him. Thoughts trickled through his mind like rotten milk on the gutter, slowly but surely forming a distorted reflection of the world.

Yuki needn't raise his voice – it rang clear in the corridor, the carried message from a stained dove. Hot air floated between them. It was _the truth_ verses _truth. _The words he heard snatched up a string of opinion in his mind, and bent it viciously.

'Do you remember that, Shigure? You said that when I moved in with you, warning me about making decisions with so little experience in my tiny little mind. About rash actions, and how I'll be the only one left at the end of it to deal with everything I've caused.'

Shigure allowed himself a thin smile. Warmth crept in his cheeks, spindly fingers of the devil.

Yuki must have seen this. He made a sound of disapproval.

'You're pathetic.'

Yuki left, the sound of his footsteps stolen by a phantom.

Shigure remained where he was, fingers drumming a slow beat on his Study doorframe. One intense thought after the other convulsed in his mind; from memory, from what-could-be, to what-_should_-be. He, too, made a sound of disapproval. He walked inside the Study room, gently dismissing Tohru, who obliged instantly.

Shigure walked to Ayame, but stopped a meter away to look. He didn't stare. He didn't glare. He didn't contemplatively squint. He just _looked_. No emotion, no thought, no humanity. And when Ayame turned to smile at him, he felt suddenly dirty, as though he had raped someone not once, but twice over.

* * *

'My _God_, Kyo –' 

'I know I am.'

'– you're as stupid as you look, aren't you?' Yuki stacked the many books scattered around the room in a pathetic pile on the table. He didn't care where they went – they just had to be off the floor before Tohru came to check on them.

'And _you're_ as girly as you _really_ look!' shot back the Cat, pelting a good-sized novel at the Rat's head. The glare on his face was so intense that Yuki did all he could to stifle his laughter. He didn't like being seen laughing by that stupid cousin of his, anyway.

'Oh, original,' Yuki drawled, moving his head an inch to the right. The book sailed cleanly by him. Kyo muttered a creative expletive and marched to the other side of the room. He crossed his arms tightly and kicked the table for emphasis. He didn't see the little piece of paper that floated down.

Yuki did, though.

'You dropped your homework, idiot.'

'_What!_' Kyo snapped, hands instantly in fists. 'I didn't bring my homework in here, you insane _faggot_. Are you and that stupid dog fucking twins or something?' He threw himself this way and that, arms flailing wildly. 'It's the holidays! No homework! No writing! No nothing!'

Yuki raised an eyebrow.

'Then what's that by your ugly foot?'

Kyo looked down sharply, grinding his teeth. He saw the innocent thing, lying there prettily folded. He could see an 'e' written in practiced calligraphy. The folding of it was complex. Kyo could see it was part of a word.

'It's a piece of paper, you dumbass,' he shot at Yuki sarcastically, who sat there, hands folded in his lap. 'Can't you bloody tell by – _what the fuck is this?_'

Yes, by now he'd opened it.

Yuki rolled his eyes and stood up, dusting himself off. He half-hoped Shigure was back with Ayame from their little 'walk' soon.

'It's a piece of paper, you dumb – Oh, this is ridiculous. I'm wasting my time having this childish conversation with you. I'm going to tell Tohru you threw another fit and turned the room into a pigsty again after we just cleaned it. I have better things to –'

Kyo was across the room in an instant. Yuki dodged the punch the Cat threw and caught him in a headlock.

'Will you _stop_ resorting to violence _every _time –'

'_Will you shut up and look at this!_'

Yuki's eyes crossed as Kyo shoved the paper into his face. He read:

_Ayame._

_Deepest apologies from my regretful heart. My schedule pressed me and I could not see your face. I beg forgiveness, if this amendment pleases you. I wish another meeting. Noon, at the same place. _

_Hatori._

* * *

**.end goes chappie four.**

**-**

**HI. **I'm back from my hole. I appreciate people looking into things and telling me so in their review. Makes me all aflutter-y to have such smart cookies reading this circus of mine. I just want to say: thank you, and for not calling me a lazy bugger concerning updates. Also, that your queries will be answered (I hope) in due time. (HAH. x.X)


	5. Red Rose’s Hypnosis

**Impersonator Waltz**

Chapter Five

_Red Rose's Hypnosis_

* * *

'Oh!' Tohru's eyes widened happily. She clasped her hands in front of her, beaming. 'You're done already? That was fast!'

Yuki clicked the door closed behind him calmly. Kyo growled as his shirt became caught.

'No, not done,' Yuki replied, smiling. He became suddenly very conscious of the piece of paper in his hand. 'But we'll get it done!' he added, seeing Tohru's face fall. 'Don't worry. We'll have that place clean before Shigure and Ayame come back.'

'Reminds me,' Kyo half-growled, tugging free his shirt violently. 'We need to go talk to that basta –'

Yuki slammed his hand over Kyo's mouth, half-knocking him out. Tohru squeaked, eyes widening impossibly.

'What he means is, err, we need to have a fight. Yes. It's been a long time since we've had a fight. As a matter of fact, we'll have one right now, won't we, Kyo?'

Kyo bit Yuki's hand as a reply and wrenched out of his grasp. He stormed outside, muttering about 'girly boys' telling him what to do. Yuki quickly wiped his hand, ignoring the sting.

'Is – is Kyo all right?' Tohru said, brow furrowing with worry. Yuki smiled, or grimaced, still wiping.

'He's fine. Don't worry. Just relax for today,all right?You shouldn't tire yourself out all the time.' He smiled again as he passed her and said over his shoulder, 'No housework until we come back! That's a promise!'

Tohru waved at him until she couldn't see him anymore. The smile on her face dropped as soon as she couldn't. Something wasn't right in this household.

* * *

The dead leaves giggled under their feet, their laughter tiny imitations of an insane child's. The sky above was not as clear as it had been for the passed few days. There were sinister clouds, stolen, decayed imaginations of children long dead. The air licking at their skin resembled a newborn child's presence; light, fresh, but tainted with sin.

Shigure and Ayame walked together, side by side, heart by heart, in silence.

'Do you remember,' Ayame said quietly, eyes misty, 'when that girl asked you to dance with her in that high school function?'

Shigure fiddled with his pen, one that stayed in his pocket wherever he went. Ayame's words made surface vague pictures in his head, like a hand would surface a dead body from water. Faces of people he would rather forget swam eerily into view, visages oddly misted by water that will not evaporate. It made him shiver, thinking of how a portion of a past he could not fully remember have such a powerful effect on him. He waved it away with thoughts of now. A sad smile sketched itself at the corner of his lips, ghost-like, forced.

'Mizumi Ito?'

'Yes! Yes, that's her.' Ayame tucked stray hair behind his ear, thinking. 'Do you remember what you did that made her cry?' He was chuckling, attempting to wrench their bodies from the real world and into his own. Shigure could see right through his feeble attempt; he could see the stains on Ayame's soul, things he hated, things he loved, people he hated, and a person he loves.

'I didn't make her cry,' Shigure played back defensively, chuckling a transparent chuckle himself. He felt like his body was being dipped back into high-school while his spirit boiled in the underworld. 'She asked me to dance, and I told her I didn't know how to. Nothing wrong with that. Sensitive girl, she was. Pretty, yes, but too sensitive.'

Ayame laughed, only a little bit of it being restrained by invisible holds. Shigure thought that lying everyday would be worth hearing that laugh, even though it could hurt and kill him, and even though it was not real. Well, because sometimes it's nice to live in a world that lied to you and made you feel so beautiful and important, instead of being held in one that grated the truth against your heart over and over with rusted metals, day after day with deformed fingers.

'You stood there staring at her and then called her _ugly!_' Ayame nudged him softly, smiling an open smile. Shigure nudged back, grinning. He ignored a gnawing voice at the back of his mind. The moment was to be lived.

The leaves swirled into a taunting face by their feet and dispersed. Neither saw it.

'That got her away, didn't it?'

'No, it didn't!' Ayame glanced at Shigure, smiling widely. 'She asked you a second time and _then _she went away because of what you did after that!'

'What did I do after that?' Feigning innocence. Plastic world. Plastic heart.

Ayame looked at him, eyes shining, like colored crystals lacquered with faint rays of the sun. Shigure thought for the millionth time in his mind that there could be no one else more beautiful than his Ayame. He pouted gracelessly and swept hair from his eyes.

'You asked _me_ to dance, Shigure!' Ayame tilted back his head, smiling and gazing at the sun. The reflection of sky was mirrored in his eyes, therefore holding the world. He looked back at Shigure, missing how his smile drooped ever so slowly. 'Poor Mizumi-chan ran to the bathroom _howling_ about how you chose your _cousin_ over someone who loved you with all her heart.' Crystal laughter. Hands threading through silver. Eyes beautiful, taunting, friendly, accusing.

Something within Shigure broke in half and fell through the unending abyss of his excuse for a soul. He stopped walking and clutched his sides, feeling a haunted wind billow through his body. His mouth formed an ugly snarl. The force whirled prettily in his mind like a spiral of glitters and gore, twinkling confetti mixing with decaying veins. He almost fell to his knees had Ayame not caught him in his arms, happiness killed by a glass dagger.

'_Shigure!_'

Ballerina figurines danced beneath his eyelids in a routine of death and love, spinning, spinning. A voice accosted him from an angry distance, echoing and echoing, like it was being screamed at him through a sheet of tears, the tears of a man who has no eyes. His head was cracking and his mind was melting into blood and everything, everything was –

'Shigure! Shigure, _answer me_!'

Hands reached for him, skin flayed, fingers inside out, veins bared, blood dripping. Long faces howled, rips in the skin leaking out nothing but smoke. A pain somewhere where his heart should be stabbed through his skin, having enough of the caged feeling it has lived with for so long. An angry mouth curled into an ugliness almost scalding to the touch.

Shigure whispered meekly, shamefully, desperately:

'Ayame …'

'What? _What is it?_ Should I get Ha – Hato – ?' Wanting to be strong. Still wading in hurt.

Shigure cringed and convulsed. Ayame couldn't even say his name.

'Ayame, I'm sorry …'

His eyes rolled, the merry-go-round too fast for him to keep up.

'_Shigure!_'

The world did a perfect pirouette, and went black.

* * *

'_Why _did we go out here in the first place if you didn't know where they _were_?'

'Please be quiet.'

'I mean, it's like jumping into a puddle that you _know _is full of shit but you jumped in it _anyway _'cause you're so damn stupid to think!'

'Actually, go on. You're embarrassing yourself.'

'Argh, I don't want to be here with you, you know that?' He snatched the paper from Yuki's hands. 'See, it doesn't even _look_ like Hatori's handwriting.' He waved it in the air and in Yuki's face. 'It's just some sick son-of-a-bitch who finds it funny to screw with your stupid brother's head.' He grumbled and threw it back at Yuki. 'I don't know why anyone would _bother,_ though. That idiot's head is _too screwed up_ to be screwed _with_ anymore.'

Yuki sighed. When will Kyo grow up? Although the idiot did have a point …

'I'm not the one who said we should go this way, you stupid – _Shigure!_'

'No, moron. It's _Kyo_.'

Yuki looked at the Cat wildly, wanting nothing more than to slap his head off. But childhood games did not fit in with illnesses and adult tricks. Grabbing Kyo's shirt, he bolted.

By the time they got there, Shigure had already slumped forward, limp in Ayame's arms.

* * *

Ring. Ring. Ri –

Gasp. Slam of the phone. Tense. Tense. Heavy. Exhale. Shaking.

Dial.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Fingers crumpling the telephone cord. Chewing her lips.

'Hello, this is Hatori –'

'Hatori! Hatori, I need to speak with you –'

'— Sohma. I'm with business at the moment. Please leave your message and I shall arrange an appointment with you as soon as possible. Thank you.'

The beep rang in Tohru's ears like a poison chime, leaking lethal fog. Her eyes misted over, sorrowful liquid crystal gathering at her tear ducts. She dropped the phone, its sound disturbing the starving dead underneath. Before she could think, she ran to the nearest place where she could find the answer on what to do when reality abused her: Rin's.

* * *

**.end goes chappie five.**

**EC-note:** soap opera GASP What does Tohru know? Why Rin? Why did Shiggy faint? Why does Ha'ri have a voice messaging bank? Oh, the queeeeestions. Heh.

I know some bits are confusing. It confuses me sometimes too when I don't think everything thoroughly. Just keep this in mind: I don't put things in a chapter, not a single word, that will not add to the sum of the story. I might, though, put a few sentences of dialogue just to amuse me after a hard day. Hah, so, type you next chapter.


	6. Warning of a Begonia

**Impersonator Waltz**

Chapter Six

_Begonia's Warning_

* * *

'Holy _shit!_' Kyo yelled, coming to a screeching halt in front of the hunching form of Ayame Sohma. His eyes darted around, half-hoping to spot a telephone booth or a house or _something_ that could give them a bloody hand. Yuki, for once in his life, lost the race there. He stopped behind Kyo, breathing deeply, struggling a little. His brow knotted itself as he hurriedly asked what was wrong,

The Snake, however, seemed not to notice. He kept sobbing Shigure's name over and over again, shaking the limp form roughly when he grew the most hysterical. Tears streamed down the starkness that was his face. His hands desperately kept hold of Shigure's traditional clothing. Wind swept across them, hurling their hair in every direction.

'Ayame, _stop!' _

Yuki stuffed the piece of paper in his pants pocket, the furthest thing from his mind, and seized Ayame's hands, trying to pry them away from Shigure. The Snake reacted violently. His head whipped up, eyes electricity, and he screamed, voice raw and that of a child's:

'_No! I might not have who has my heart, but you're not going to take away the person who owns who I **am!**_'

He scrambled back clumsily, dragging Shigure's body with him. His eyes were wide, frightened, insane. The knuckles of both his hands were white as he clutched Shigure for dear life. Yuki stepped back, incredibly alarmed, his own eyes darker and worried. Wind blew again, this time colder, grazing teeth against their skin. The Snake resumed in shaking Shigure, sobbing his name, pleading for him to return and comfort him and that he couldn't do it alone.

Yuki tried several times to separate the conscious and the unconscious to no avail. Ayame kept yelling at him to get away, that he was too young, that he was just his little brother who didn't know anything about anyone. When Ayame screeched it for the third time, Yuki looked away, shocked to find his chest hot and his eyes even hotter. It was like he touched the past with his very finger, and then brought the burning liquid into his soul, instantly robbing him of a little more sanity. He tried again to break them apart, seeing Ayame beginning to graze his nails against his face maddeningly. But he achieved the same result. Yuki backed away, body numb, eyes a little wide, lips pressed together.

Kyo looked at the Rat once, eyes hooded by hair and eventual understanding. He nodded, stepped close to Ayame and then punched him. The older man's grip was relinquished as cried out, falling back. His bottom lip was cut clean through. The blood against the paleness of skin was almost sickening.

A wet silence held them in its hands. The tiniest of sounds – the giggling leaves, the erratic beating of Yuki's and Ayame's hearts, Kyo's even breathing – were amplified.

'Now, it's either you get a fucking grip on yourself or I have a go at you again.' Kyo's voice was calm, dangerous, a steel plate against the wind. His eyes flashed once as he gazed intensely at Ayame, mouth straight. 'You choose. Your shaking the shit out of that Dog won't do him _any_ good. You're probably mixing up the crap he has for brains to the point that he'll be a vegetable when he wakes up. We need to get him to Hatori.'

Ayame's eyes clouded over and a sob escaped his lips. Specks of blood ricochet onto Shigure's face.

Kyo felt no pity. Yuki stared on.

'Either come or don't come, you _idiot_. I'd prefer it if you don't, but I know the stupid Dog would want you to.'

He didn't need to tell Yuki to help him carry Shigure. Yuki was there already. They made their way to Hatori's, a limp and cold Writer between them.

Ayame held a hand to his lip, half-attempting to stem the mad flow of rouge. His fingers trembled. The coppery taste of his own blood was a queer flavor on his lips, making him dizzy and sending his thoughts into a deeper, more complex spiral.

After a moment, he stumbled after the trio, hair flying back like a severed, colorless curtain.

* * *

Unbeknownst to his phone back at home ringing, Hatori kept his gaze to the floor. Hands hung loosely by his sides as he knelt in front of the slowly pacing Akito. Hair curtained those mysterious eyes of his, adding to the desire of finding out what kind of patterned stains were imprinted on the Dragon's soul. It was comfortably warm in the room, like boiled dew, but the cold outside had encrusted itself on Hatori's pale skin; iced-over tears.

'My darling Dragon,' cooed Akito, leaning in very close to Hatori. Her breath was hot against the Dragon's face. 'Why are you sad?'

When Hatori did not answer, Akito slapped him. His head went to the side, but he did not move: couldn't or wouldn't, only he knew. A stinging print already made itself known on the side of his face, the side where the injured eye was obscured by his bangs. To the side, Kureno closed the tiny opening of the window, seeing Akito's bared shoulder shiver. He retained his silent role.

'You usually don't ignore me, Hatori. Why are you being rude? I don't like it when you're rude like this. Be nicer. I'll like it when you're nicer.'

Akito knelt right in front of him, face peering curiously into his, like an owner looking for the perfect doll.

'What do I do to become nicer, Akito?' Hatori monotonously said, eyes gazing emptily at the floor. He didn't know or feel it, but he was shaking. It was odd, though. He wasn't angry. Or afraid. Was the cold that bad?

'Look at me when I'm talking to you,' Akito growled, roughly seizing Hatori's face to face her own. Their eyes locked; one set was alight, cunning, and beautiful, the other was carefully closed off, but if one looked closely enough, they would see the tiny cracks in them, little breaks. Akito smiled a little smile. Hatori breathed deeper, feeling spindly fingers of a demon crawl down his back. It was breathtaking to look into the soul of Akito Sohma, like witnessing a beautiful woman undress, only to see a gun pointed at her head by her own hand.

'Yes, Akito.'

She looked at him for a long moment, eyes the tiniest amount squinted, grip the _tiniest _amount relaxed. She gazed pleasantly at the perfection of his face, of his skin, and of his lips. Hatori did not flinch or react when she kissed him. Nor did he retaliate when she slithered a hand to the back of his head and wrenched his hair, exposing his neck. The only sign that Hatori Sohma knew what was happening was when his eyes roamed to Kureno in the corner; a guarded, challenging gaze. He failed, however, to see the scowl on the Rooster's face, almost completely hidden in the shadow.

'Mm, you're very beautiful, darling Hatori,' Akito breathed, kissing his neck one last time before pulling away and standing up. She tugged her kimono back over her bare shoulder, hair a-swish and haunting smile still in place.

'Of course, who wouldn't think you're a pretty person, Hatori? They would be lying. Liars don't make very pretty people. Liars hide things from their loved ones. Liars, liars, liars.' She walked to the window and slid it open, slender fingers lingering on the latch. Calm, frozen air crawled in, wisps of secrets people had forgotten to keep that day. She inhaled the air for a moment, face in rapture, and then slammed the window shut, cracking a portion of the glass. 'Liars are dirty creatures. Dirty creatures that don't deserve to be on this Earth with perfect you, and perfect me.'

She laughed. It wasn't a happy laugh. It wasn't a cold one either. Hatori couldn't place it, but it gave him a feeling of foreboding, and fear.

'Isn't that right, Kureno?'

She looked fondly at the Rooster, who inclined his head once.

'You see,' she said lightly, bringing her gaze back to Hatori's face, 'Kureno takes care of me. But he isn't perfect. Oh, no. No one can be as perfect as you and I, and my _precious_ Yuki.' She knelt again and placed a gentle hand on Hatori's jaw, cradling his face; a cradle to the grave. 'Even though Kureno is ugly, I still keep him. Why? Because perfect people need imperfect people to keep them perfect.' She stood again, looking down at him. Her hair tickled her bare shoulders, fluttering in a wind that was not supposed to be there. 'We need imperfection to keep perfection.' She walked to the door, her slow footsteps like the tick of Death's clock to the Dragon. 'That's why _she's_ here, Hatori.'

Akito violently grabbed someone from the shadows of the doorway and threw her to the ground, directly in front of Hatori. It was a delicate woman, with brown hair, and caring eyes. But right now, those eyes had its persona stolen, replaced with a different one: fear, and the feeling when you _know_ that you know something, but just can't quite place it. Can't _quite_ remember. Can't _quite_ figure out. It was dancing a fast waltz around your train of thought. Faster and faster and faster.

Hatori felt his heart throb the moment he heard her voice cry out from pain. He knew that voice. He knew. His hands clenched and his knuckles turned white. A human being could only take so much, and Hatori felt so much less like a human being that the burden of life was almost there in its task of breaking him. He fell forward, hands down, hair hanging, eyes tightly shut. As he struggled to find himself amidst everything, he found two faces that made his heart ache and angry and scream memory at the same time.

Akito's smile grew wider as he watched the woman scramble from the floor and little ways away from Hatori. Kureno was there to prevent her from bolting. Eyes once insatiable in understanding now were bloodshot and glassy. Hands once shaped to God's perfection, were now dry and shaking. Her hair hung around her thin frame, not having been cut for years, an ugly mass of memory. Her lips were chalked, even bleeding a little.

'You remember, don't you, Hatori?'

The Dragon let out a breath that shook, no matter how much he tried to control it.

'Don't you, my Dragon? Her name's Kana Sohma.'

* * *

'What are _you _doing here?'

Tohru jumped back at the straightforward tone, curling into herself. She whirled around to the source of the voice, prepared to excuse herself to the end of time. She sighed, relieved, that it was Rin who spotted her lurking in Sohma estate, and not anyone else.

Rin stood there, arms crossed, weight on one leg and one eyebrow arched. Tohru took her stance the wrong way and immediately bowed, sputtering an apology. The Horse made an impatient noise and waved away the formalities with a long hand. She demanded what Tohru was doing here again.

'I, uh, you see, uh, Rin, I need to – to talk to you about … about something that –'

'Ah, yes, I understand you completely.' Light tone. Fluttery voice.

Tohru's eyes brightened.

'Really?'

'No.' Deadpanned.

Rin jammed her hands into her pocket. She crouched on the ground, looking up at Tohru with spunk. 'Can you talk, you know, in complete sentences? If you can manage, that is,' she added for measure. She stood and shifted her weight on one leg again, causing creases in the loose pants she had donned on for the day. The wind nipped at her bare midriff and shoulders. Her long hair provided little to no warmth, almost as much warmth as the corset-like clothing covering (or lack of it) her torso.

'Can we – can we talk at your house?' Tohru trekked cautiously, eyes wide. 'If – if it's not too much trouble, of course. But if it is, we can just talk here, but I don't think other people should hear –'

Rin was growing tired of the stutters and nervousness. She rolled her eyes.

'Oh, for God' sake, let's go.'

She roughly passed Tohru, who followed her, looking over her shoulder for a reason she herself didn't know.

* * *

'So. Spit it out.'

Rin locked her door and turned around, arms crossed, eyes hard and stance guarded.

Tohru blurted the first thing that came into her mind.

'How are things between you and Hatsuharu?'

Rin's eyes flashed and she started toward Tohru, fists already clenched. She caught herself just in time and stopped, hair swaying dangerously, like a hanged bodies from nooses. Her eyes were harder and colder than ever.

'If _that'_s what you're here to yap about; _get out_. I don't want to hear about that Cow.'

'I'm sorry! That's not why I came to you! I'm so sorry!'

Her wide eyes were enough to soften even Rin's heart. The older girl sighed emptily and fell on her bed, eagle-spread and staring at the ceiling. A silent moment passed between them with Tohru apprehensively folding together her hands and Rin scrutinizing the roof.

'What is it, really, that you want from me? It isn't often that you come, and I'd prefer it that way, but right now you interest me. Tell me, is it Yuki? Or Kyo?' Her voice was deadpanned. Tohru blinked.

'I – err, they're both fine but I don't know what that has to do with –'

'Yeah, yeah.' Rin rolled her eyes again. Typical Tohru. 'Spit it out. What do you want?'

Rin rolled over onto her stomach and grabbed a magazine from her bookshelf. Idly flicking, her face showed no sign of interest into whatever speech Tohru was about to engage in, leaving the latter looking on nervously, hesitant. Another moment passed. Rin rolled her eyes and shut the magazine. She threw her hair over one shoulder and propped her arm on the bed, resting her chin on her hand. She made a sarcastic face, eyeing Tohru carefully for typical signs.

'_Well?_'

Tohru started, blinking rapidly. She launched into her story, telling Rin how Ayame had come to stay with them for a little while and how Shigure had told her he was suffering from a broken something. He didn't know what it really was and that she was to make lovely soup for them all so he could get better. She told Rin how she talked a little with Ayame while Shigure talked with Hatori outside. She recounted of how distracted Ayame was, how incomplete and dreamy he was. She told in great detail Yuki and Kyo going to have a fight and agreeing on it and how Hatori wouldn't answer his phone and that everything confused her so much that she, for one moment, wished her Mother could come back and give her advice.

Rin's face stayed neutral, or as Rin-like, through Tohru's emotional tirade.

'Hmm, that's odd. I know the Hatori's busy and all, but he never misses any phone calls. He even answers Shigure's calls, for the love of –' she stopped, her eyes catching something in the distance.

Someone was walking slowly toward Akito's house, head bowed, hair obscuring her face. Rin's eyes narrowed. She had seen her before, but where? Before she could get a closer look, the woman disappeared inside. Rin stared for a while, thinking, remembering. Not quite knowing why, she shivered and rubbed her arms. Her eyes riveted back to Tohru, who was fidgeting with her fingers.

'Anyway. Why're you so worried about it all? It's not like anyone's dead or anything.' Rin laughed, tucking black hair behind her ears. The many silver piercings there caught the light outside, making them wink. For some reason, Tohru saw them as deceiving eyes. She frowned.

'I don't know why it's troubling me … but I thought I'd come to you. You're a very honest person, Rin, and I thought you could tell me what you think about – about it all. It's okay if you don't _want_ to tell me, but I thought I should –' she added hastily, eyes widening.

'I think you're going insane and that you should go home. Sorry, but that's what I'm thinking right now,' Rin added, not meaning to sound mocking. 'Yuki and Kyo are retards when they fight like kids. Shigure's a manipulative bastard, we all know that. Ayame's a drama queen, and frankly, I don't care about him. As for Hatori, he has enough problems of his own to fill entire textbooks with. As for _you,_ you should just go home and prepare dinner, or something.'

'But – but, are you sure?'

Rin shrugged nonchalantly, smirking a little.

'Who cares? Now go.'

She ushered Tohru out of her room, her house, and the estate.

Before shutting the gates on her, Rin said, with a crooked smile and an arched eyebrow:

'Don't kill yourself worrying about it. When secrets come out, they come out. Wait for it – it probably won't be long.'

* * *

**.ends goes chappie six.**


	7. Aconite's Realizations

**Author Note:** So sorry it took this long. I won't even make any excuses. But I did it! I won't be this long for the next chapters, though. Hopefully. To you still reading, _thank you._

* * *

**Impersonator Waltz**

Chapter Seven

_Aconite's Realizations_

* * *

"Oh, this is just _great_,' seethed Kyo, having tripped over thrice while carrying Shigure on the way to Hatori's, coming perilously close to dropping the unconscious Writer on his head. He scowled into Hatori's windows as best he could while gripping the Dog firmly around the torso. No dimmed lights. No quietly humming radio. No giggling Momiji. Just an eerie, foreboding silence.

"No one's in there," he tossed irritably to Yuki, whose breathing seemed uneven. Kyo eyed him carefully, deliberately for a moment, before flapping off his worry_. One sick idiot at a time,_ he thought savagely, becoming quite annoyed with everything. Honestly, if things continued on in this vain, he just hoped he didn't collapse himself.

"Yes, I can see that." Yuki's tone wasn't snappish, or sarcastic. Just a little breathless.

Yuki shifted Shigure's weight to one arm a moment, holding a hand to his chest to steady his erratic breathing. Lids fluttered close over his dark lavender eyes, like silken curtains over color-glass windows. It seemed as though a stopper had been placed at the entrance of his lungs, blocking out almost completely the air, a defiant hand.

"You're going to fall on your face too, aren't you?" said Kyo wearily, stare mounting in discreet, unfound panic. A fine sheen of sweat made strands of his orange hair stick to his forehead. His mouth was contorted into frown, completing his expression of irritation.

"Just get him inside," Yuki shot back, finding in himself to sound cold. His breathing was still slightly spasmodic, but the worst was past. The stiff conversation between them made him feel awkward and he found himself cursing Shigure's carelessness, being the cause of all things. Or so he thought.

"I didn't know you were all up for hurling him through the window," Kyo said lightly, preparing to throw Shigure bodily into the house. Yuki let out a string of insults dotted with expletives aiming to wound Kyo's intelligence. The Cat smiled grimly.

"We can't throw him through the _window_ –"

"I _know_ that," Kyo snapped, glare back in place, becoming increasingly uncomfortable from the weight of a full-grown man in his arms. He was itching to just bolt, leaving all this behind him. As a passing thought, it dawned to him that this didn't even involve him that much. He could just walk away and watch the happenings from afar, maybe even laugh about it when things reached an ugly climax.

But that was cowardly.

"Look, let's just set him down for a while, all right?" he growled, more to himself than Yuki. He laidShigure on the leaf-littered ground, stifling a groan from the stiffness his muscles contracted the moment the burden was lifted. Yuki showed no signs of physical weakness, sans the unusual breathing pattern.

A lick of wind stung their faces as Ayame staggered behind them, eyes bled of emotion. His lip still throbbed forth blood. His voice cracked painfully as he spoke.

"This is my fault," he balefully announced, hands trembling to half-heartedly stem the rivulet of blood dribbling down his chin. "If I hadn't burdened dear Shigure of my wants when we were young men … if I hadn't – hadn't been so _selfish_ …" His voice dropped radically, settling on a fragile whisper. Tears sprang from his eyes, providing a blanket-less warmth, a fool's comfort. He sank to the floor, weeping.

Kyo regarded him with disgust. Yuki blinked and looked away, chest pounding, expression implacable. Between them, Shigure stirred ever so slightly, a movement that all three failed to notice.

"Yeah, that's right," Kyo spat out, scathing, "If it weren't for your _stupid_ drama and your _stupid _overall self, our _family_ could thrive a little more on normalcy!" His voice heightened in volume, growing more and more furious by the syllable. He cared very little for the sense of his words (he knew very well that his 'family' was the definite opposite of 'normal'), only caring that Ayame feel the _real_ hurt others felt, not just the unnecessary wounds, the _delusional_ wounds, he created for himself. A plastic world with gashes healed then opened again by hallucinations.

"_Ayame …" _

"Don't you notice that your general personality just fucking sucks?" Kyo howled bluntly, taking several strides toward Ayame, hands balled into quivering fists. His eyes were streaked with rage. "Maybe you're blind to everything else but _yourself,_ but let me just say, on behalf of every _fucking _Sohma _and_ human out there, related or just happen to have the same _arsehole_ last name – _Fuck you, you self-centered son of a bitch!" _Caught up in the fervor of anger, he brought back a leg to kick Ayame. Yuki got there just in time. Just.

"_Kyo!_" he gasped fiercely, almost overwhelmed by the strength of the Cat. He struggled to hold him back, arms shaking violently from the effort. His heels dug into grainy soil, skin now alert to Kyo's nails pressing in. "Do you think _this_ is going to do anything? _Stop_ –"

"I _know_ it's doing nothing but it feels _good_ just yelling at him, you _damn_ Rat –"

"_Ayame…" _A rustle of robes. A twitching of fingers. A whisper of pardon.

"Kyo – _stop_ –"

Yuki shoved hard, almost knocking their balance awry, legs about ready to give out from the effort. The Cat growled, looking livid, and repelled the other's advances with equal brutality, hair flying back from a short gust of wind. Their scuffle rose in hysteria, with Kyo's befuddled emotions steadily becoming directed at Yuki, who seemed hell bent on toppling them both over if it meant no further harm came upon anyone else. Something in the Rat's heart twitched; an emotion, or something else? He pushed that fleeting thought away and pushed bodily on Kyo.

At the same time the other did the same. It seemed the Cat's superior strength championed the other's dominant stealth. Yuki's defenses gave way, eyes closing shut, awaiting the inevitable. They would surely wind Ayame (and more) from the force of Kyo's push.

But they landed on an ungainly heap on nothing but floor, limbs tangled and anger swiftly put out by the sudden twistof events.

Their heads, inches apart, automatically swiveled to Shigure's unconscious form.

A form that was no longer unconscious but very much, if not a little disoriented, awake.

"Shigure…" Ayame breathed weakly, eyes swimming in tears, half a meter from the Writer. Even the Snake seemed at loss for words. His long hands trembled as they stretched to cup the Dog's almost bewildered face. Witha slight rose color dusted over his cheekbones and topped with the now dormant flow of blood from his lips and mused hair, Ayame looked the picture of radically ruffled elegance.

Shigure felt his heart's tear crease a little, causing his confusion to well up abnormally.

Yuki and Kyo stared blankly for a long moment at them, sparks of cockeyed emotions being rekindled in their eyes. They were on top of each other, the Rat being bottom and the Cat sprawled messily all over him. It took for them a moment to realize. When they did, they immediately disentangled themselves, furious blame shooting back and forth like glass in momentum.

"There better be something really, _really_ good behind this," Kyo forced through gritted teeth, striding up to Shigure and looking imposingly down at him. The Cat breathed deeply through his nose, ruffling his hair as the air spiraled. Suspicion and slowly-leaking-back-in irritation made his eyes narrow to slits.

The Writer looked up at him and blinked, then blinked again, unaware of what he had caused. He looked around carefully, brows knotted. The aftermath of his fainting spellprevented coherent thought from forming in his mind. He was only starting to gather together that people were very, very unhappy with him.

And why in the world was Ayame looking at him as though he had been resurrected?

"Err…" he tried dubiously, slowly. He blinked rapidly, suddenly feeling very nauseous. "Apart – apart from the fact that I feel very pregnant, emotion-wise, that is … I really don't know how to explain." He tilted his head, unabashedly finding a way to smile crookedly. "Or what to explain, for that matter."

Kyo began sputtering incoherent things. He started toward Shigure with the intention of knocking him out but stopped, seeing from the corner of his eyes Yuki's tense stance. The Cat knew he'd be on him the moment another to-be brawl ensued.

"Shigure?" Yuki called a couple of meters away, tone measured, pieces forming a distorted picture in his mind. Outwardly, even he seemed a little confused. "Shigure, do you know where we are?"

The asked needn't look around. He knew this ground anywhere, even in his addled state.

"Behind Hatori's house, of course," he replied, beginning to sound a little nettled himself judging from the creasing of his brow. The imploring, desperate look Ayame was piercing him with did nothing to tranquilize the rapidly swirling emotions in his heart. Things were placing themselves right again and it was only a matter of time before his still sleep-riddled brain caught on. "Yuki, are you all right? You don't seem the kind to ask obvious questions. That's normally Kyo's job."

Something in Kyo cracked a little.

"Let's thread a thorny path, eh?" he growled, scowling furiously. He broke out, yelling again. "Are you even looking around, you stupid Dog! Look! _Look!_" He flailed an arm at the Snake, who retained that dazed expression. "You wake upsomewhere _not yourhome_ andyou have the _time_ to call me stupid?"

"Not stupid, dear kitty. I never said that. Just very obvious, concerning many, many things. But only sometimes!" he added cheerfully, almost hearing Kyo's blood surge with irritation. Yuki sighed helplessly in the background. Kyo swiveled to him, eyes crackling with annoyance.

"You know what?" he said, breathing deeply, trying to keep what was left of his emotional reign in check. "I don't need this. I could be somewhere else, doing something useful." His tone leveled out, body relaxing. He willed himself to bend to his words. "Licking Akito's feet would be better than _this_. You can deal with the idiot and sidekick. I'm off."

At the mention of Akito, Shigure froze up, blood running cold, all playfulness hurled aside.

The world flickered black and white and then to color in his eyes without him blinking. Broken images flitted passed him, segmented words cutting deep into his mind and engraving black secrets. His hands clawed into the ground, tiny pebbles rooting themselves under his nails, pushing back and breaking skin. His jaw was set, teeth clenched to an agonizing tightness.

Ayame started toward him but Shigure shrank back, as if touched by invisible heat.

An image of a headless person, identity unknown, whirled in Shigure's mind tauntingly. It held its talking mouth in its bloody hand, its laughter reverberating off invisible walls. Dizziness slammed into his head and everything flooded back, even before Ayame's double-crossed meeting. His eyes darted to the direction of Akito's part of the compound, a feeling of immense, overwhelming, drowning fear almost sending him into a wheel of hysteria.

His breath hitched, his heart ached, his head pounded.

Ignoring the yells of Kyo (who had been alerted to Shigure's sudden change by Yuki) and Ayame's alarmed words, Shigure scrambled to his feet and fled to Akito's, heart sinking.

* * *

Kana had heard of Akito from her friends. It seemed that she (or he, as Akito was known to everyone else except a few select people) was the Family head (what that meant to Kana was lost to her) and that she had a terrible temper, one that shouldn't be crossed or provoked under any circumstances.

"You _dare_ address me in such a manner, you ugly little girl?" sneered Akito, tempest eyes flashing with imminence and contempt. Kana whimpered, nursing a welt on her arm on which she had landed on. Akito beckoned Kureno with a long finger, keeping her elegant glower fixed on the pitiful sight of Hatori's once-lover. The Rooster obeyed accordingly, striding up to Akito in a measured nature, eyes curtained by the ever-present Sohma fringe. His face was impassive, giving off nothing. He stood beside the Jyuunishi leader, quietly surrendering himself to her for the thousandth time.

Akito smiled at him briefly; a smile that held no warmth, no reassurance, no love.

"Let me tell you something, _girl_," she said condescendingly to Kana, scowl belittling. She began circling her slowly, hair swaying, caressing her bare shoulder. The sickly perfection of her face made the older woman look away, gasping for breath. "No one talks to me in that manner and escapes unscathed." Akito circled closer, slower. "No one disobeys my orders and escapes unharmed." She crouched down, smirking mouth right next to Kana's ear. Hot breath. Hot heart. Burning mind. "And no one dirties my toys and escapes alive."

She struck Kana with the back of her hand, connecting the Outsider's face with the floor.

Hatori's mind willed himself to act, to do _anything_. But something held him back. His limbs wouldn't acquiesce to his thoughts. His mouth caged his words. A cage within a cage.

If he couldn't obey himself, then…

"Now, look at that," cooed Akito wonderingly, observing as Kana struggled on the floor, bleeding at the mouth. She smiled gleefully and straightened, pulling her garments over her shoulder with regal air. She walked back to Kureno, smile dangerous, eyes partly angry, partly lustful and very much alive. She leant into his embrace, resting a hand on the arms that encircled her waist. She smirked at Kana, who looked blearily up at her, mused bangs streaked with sweat.

The heat in the room intensified.

Hatori's heart pounded; his lungs contracted; his mind reeled.

Someone banged on the door violently. No one took notice.

"You know who he is don't you, you ugly creature?" Akito laughed, eyesroaming to the Dragon and back to Kana's broken face. The older woman looked, with some effort (her neck felt strangely uncomfortable), at Hatori. Her mind worked against the pain of her body and an invisible wall of _something_. Her thoughts tried breaching that barrier; that fort she had felt to be _there_ all the time but just not worth the effort to bother with. Tendrils of her past awoke and gripped at things, pulling them apart, like furious hands shredding down the curtain hiding a scandal. Before the whole picture was made clear, a dizziness seized her and her sight swam, images contorting then disappearing, dissolving them blackening.

A name was on the tip of her tongue, a name she had just heard a few moments ago; a name that had once meant the entire world to her.

The dizziness clamped a hand over her nose, cutting off the air. She gasped and gasped, eyes watering then fluttering close. Her mind danced a fevered waltz in her mind, spinning fast and then faster and _faster_. She slammed her hands on her floor, nails grating against the wood, splintering it and piercing the skin underneath.

It was there. The name. She knew what it meant to her. She _knew!_

Her eyes flew open, cracking stare drawn like a magnet to the hunched figure dressed in white.

Doctor.

His head was bowed. Uneven hair obscured what looked to be a very beautiful face. Long arms trembled. Deep breaths labored.

Dragon.

The wall was incinerated in her mind, the stopper taken away from her nose. An image of a rose and a secret flashed in her mind, making her blink rapidly. She brought her hands to her face, looking at them in wonder and forbidden hope; a hope she didn't know she harbored.

Her eyes snapped to him again, at the same time he looked up, face equally broken and a picture of ultimate perfection, save an injured eye; Kana's truest, most ugly fault. Her heart broke and shattered and healed at the same time.

_Hatori._

* * *

Rin looked intently to ceiling of her room, thoughts scattered and emotions simmering.

"So Tohru isn't as daft as she looks," she said lightly, lacing her fingers together and shifting on her bed. Her eyes passed over her delicate hands, seeing beyond them and into things she knew had nothing to do with her.

It was funny, observing such an everyday thing and realizing that it had so much more to say about what was happening. The way her fingers rested on top of each other, dormant now but holding all the strength and skill to do everything from holding knives for murder, to lovingly caressing a lover's face. The way subtlety like that could unleash havoc in the most unsuspecting ways sent thrilling shivers up her spine, filling her from crown to toe of _feeling_.

She rolled her eyes, taking her hands apart.

_Honestly, I observe too much,_ she thought, standing up to head down to scrounge for food, when she noticed something from the corner of her eye.

Akito's.

She narrowed her eyes. Rin walked to her window, hand going to the latch, gripping it tighter than she had intended. It slid open easily and her body leaned into the wind, ebony hair flicking back sharply. Her eyes struggled to make out the shadows against the stinging cold.

Two were definitely hunched. One stood in-between them, and another, a taller one, a little way off.

Her brows furrowed. This seemed a little _too_ coincidental.

Her sharp eyes followed the in-between shadow as it moved and joined with the other in an embrace. Pliant tendrils of thought withdrew back a portion of her talk with Tohru.

_Wait for it – it probably won't be long._

Words from her mouth echoed themselves back. Eerie whispers.

Her heart loudly thudded once, realizing how much unintentional truth she had spoken.

* * *

**.end goes chappie seven.**


	8. White Carnation's Death

**Author's Note:** I hope this _un_confuses things a little. Please take time to piece things together. Any more confusion, please email me so I can make it clear to you. Hope you enjoy. Thanks muchly!

_Italics _-flashbacks.

* * *

**Impersonator Waltz**

Chapter Eight

_White Carnation's Death_

* * *

"_I'll do anything. I'll even give you my body."_

_A mocking laugh. A scribbling of words. Twinkling eyes._

"_Really, Rin. As much as I'd like to, you're much too young for me."_

_A flash of dignity. Snarl._

"_You're a fucking liar, Shigure."_

_A knowing chuckle. An empty smile._

"_Not liar, dear, just… cryptic." He laughed again. _

"_Then what price do you want for you to do this for me?"_

_It was his turn to look condescendingly at her, smile gone. He gripped his pen tighter._

"_There is no price on love, Rin." His eyes were hard and his jaw set. "I'll do this, but not for you." His eyes softened for a moment, remembering. "I do this for someone else. A person who is worth as much to me as Hatsuharu is to you." _

_He looked pointedly at her and Rin stared back, mirroring his expression; an expression of a fierce dedication to their loves, a dedication they do not want them knowing of; a dedication that intended to destroy the family in order to build a new life._

_The Horse sighed tiredly, sitting on the floor, looking disgruntled._

"_You'll really do this," she said flatly, staring blankly at the ground, fingertips toying with her hair. Her eyes were cold but held a burning love. "You're stupid, Shigure, but brave. I'll give you that much." She looked up at him, lashes making pretty shadows on her cheekbones. "You're much braver than me, I'll admit. That's why I came to you to break this – this –" She fished for words, distaste evident, "this_ fucking_ thing."_

"_Oh, but babies wouldn't exist withou –"_

"_Braver than me," cut in Rin sharply, shooting him a warning glance, "braver than me because I came to you instead of trying to solve this by myself." She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "Heavens knows I've tried." She observed the dull shine of her hair in the half light, eyes fleetingly mournful, like shining coals. "Tried so much and so many times for him." An instinctive hand went to the faded cut on her arm, caressing it as though the gauze still bound in her blood, a phantom memory still haunting her. "You're really sure about this?"_

"_And if I'm not?"_

_Her eyes flashed._

"_Don't play games, Dog! By striking this deal with him –" here, Shigure smiled inwardly "—you know that you're putting all of us in danger. Possibly death." Both sets of eyes were as cold as ice; as hot as fire. "By striking a bargain with _God_ …" She referred to Akito with ill-hidden disgust, mouth curling nastily. "A bargain with the Jyunnishi commander … you know that he can kill all of us if he wanted to? If the fancy just takes him …? If he finds out that you're – that _we're _doing this for other reasons, not just because we're creating time for him to _seduce Hatori_ –" she said this with utmostdistaste "— so that he'll release us from his dirty hold, you know that he'll punish not just us, but the people we're doing this for? Hatsuharu and Ayame will cop as much blame."_

_Lightly. "I know what Akito will do." _

_Rin regarded him closely, eyes narrowed._

"_And you think Ayame's worth it for you to consort with that bastard?"_

_Shigure raised an eyebrow, as if to say _"Do you doubt me?"

_Rin sighed and shook her head. A small smile played on the corners of her lips._

"_Then I hope God's eyes won't see this sin, Shigure."_

_He laughed again, resuming his writing, eyes holding everything and nothing._

_A small pause followed. Rin twirled her hair, glaring at nothing. Shigure wrote his thoughts._

"_Aren't you going to ask me how I knew it was Ayame?" _

_The Writer shot her a glance from the corner of his eye, a playful smile twitching on his lips._

"_You're not confused on who you love, Rin," he said after a while thoughtfully. His writing slowed as he sank into thought, same smile still fixed; an engraved trademark. "Dear Tohru's mind is befuddled with innocence; we all know that, so she never notices things like this." Rin snorted. Shigure chuckled, despite himself. "The Cat and the Rat are in two chases all at once: their own, and an imaginary one that shouldn't be there in the first place." He looked thoughtfully into space, chewing on his pen. "It's bad of me to encourage their so-called 'courting' of Tohru, I think." He shrugged indifferently. "A mutual understanding of feelings will come when they're older."_

_Rin looked at him with narrowed eyes. _

"_As enlightening as that was, you never answered my question properly. Speak, Dog."_

"_Tcha, manners, little Horse." He leaned back in his chair, pen inserted behind his ear. He seemed to be collecting his thoughts, wisely using words that would not divulge too much. "You knew I'm doing this for him because, for one, you're older, therefore wiser."_

_Drily. "I don't see how that applies to you." _

"_For two," he continued, ignoring her, "your mind isn't cluttered with as much teenage fancies as it was a few years ago. You're nearly an adult, Isuzu, so you're starting to think like one."_

_Rin glowered. Her nails dug into her own flesh as she gripped her arms._

"_Don't call me that," she hissed heatedly, eyes crackling. "My _mother_ gave me that name and I never want to hear _anything_ from that woman ever again."_

"_And for three," the Writer went on, blatantly overlooking the distress he had caused, "I know that you want the best for Hatsuharu, hence your wanting the curse to be broken, so it's natural that you recognize your own aims when mirrored in someone else. Me." He looked at her, emotions in his eyes dancing a lethal waltz. "We're two of a kind, Isuzu." She flinched again. "You want this curse off us so your Hatsuharu can live life to the fullest and find love again." Rin looked away. "I want it off so Ayame can decide for himself properly who lover and friend is, without hiding things."_

"_He can do that _with_ the curse on," Rin spat savagely, aiming to hurt._

"_Ah," Shigure said superiorly, unfazed and wagging a finger. His eyes were alight, all-knowing. "Then you don't know much about this Curse of the Twelve then, do you, my dear?"_

_The Horse scowled but said nothing. Shigure smiled mockingly._

"_So, if that's all you've come here to amicably chat of, I guess you'd better be going. Akito might call me soon." His eyes darkened a few shades. "The _master_ can't find you here talking of plots and things. No, no, that would be bad. The holiness wouldn't like it." He plucked the pen from behind his ear and set it on the table, waving a dismissive hand at Rin. The horse flipped him off. "Go wreak havoc somewhere else now. Along with you!"_

_Rin was gone before he had finished his sentence. _

_Shigure looked at the empty space on the floor thoughtfully for a moment, chewing on his pen. His brow knitted slightly as he thought. He clicked his tongue, for once becoming disturbed of the silence his study had._

* * *

"Kagura!" called Rin distractedly down the hall, hoping the Boar would open her door without preamble and her usual impossible self. The called didn't answer. The corridor was held in thick silence.

Rin bit her tongue from swearing out loud. She shut her door, locking it securely. Her hands lingered on the doorknob, head bowed.

"_Shigure_ …" she bit out lowly through gritted teeth, eyes hardening. She grabbed her jacket and strode to her window, gait hardly measured. For the second time in two hours, she opened it more violently than she intended to, wind whipping her hair back.

She leapt out of the window, jarring her foot nerves and was making her way to Akito's in no time. Things were going too far. For all it was worth, she had to do _something._

* * *

Shigure pounded on the door, all dignity lost for the moment. His eyes were partly furious and partly in panic.A tearwas forcingits way out of his duct, hot and raw, scalding his skin. A guttural howl rumbled through him as he pounded and pounded on the door, unheard. His mouth was curled in a snarl of shame and anger, fists balled into the tightest of fists.

"_Akito!_" he yelled. "Akito!" His poundings became louder, slower. He began grating his nails against the fine wood of the Head Sohma's door, creating uneven prints. The air was heavy, pressing against his face. His heart thudded painfully, his mind remembering all too clearly the pain-streaked face Ayame had looked at him with. It was then, with a plummeting, cold feeling in his torso, that he realized the Snake had looked at him with the infinite worry of a _friend_, not a lover.

He growled, too much akin to his Jyunnishi form that he could have liked.

"Cold feet?"

Shigure swung around, expression feral.

"Funny," observed Rin darkly. "How uncharacteristic of you to be so violent with a door."

"I'm not doing this," Shigure seethed at once, stance defiant, unforgiving. "I'm not going to consort any further with Akito concerning my relationship with Ayame." Rin needn't know of his quiet, unvoiced rejection just yet.

He remembered the kind of worry Ayame had given him, and visibly flinched.

"Or lack of it," Rin spat out with poison.

Flinched again.

Rin observed him as docilely as she could, long black bangs serving as an effective curtain for her eyes. She noted the very slight shaking of Shigure's form (from anger, fear or just simple shame, she didn't know). She took in the wildness of his eyes, the same fleeting emotion she had seen when she offered him her body the day the bargain was made known to her. She carefully watched the way he looked at her; with contempt, with anger ...with a little bit of blame.

"It was your choice to go on with it," Rin said quietly, voice devoid of emotion. The wind whistled through their hair. Wind nipped at bare skin. "Your choice to do this for Ayame." She hesitated then added, even more quietly, venomously, "Your choice to do this for the Jyunnishi."

"You _stupid_ girl," Shigure blurted out, suddenly laughing. His eyes held no mercy. "You really think I'm doing this for the Jyunnishi?" He leered challengingly at her, confidence slowly seeping back into him, like poison willingly being drawn in. "I was doing this for myself, _Isuzu._" He spat the name at her like it was the epitome of ugliness. "Maybe a little for Ayame, since I love him."

Rin regarded him with disgust, mouth curling. Shigure laughed arrogantly at her.

"You don't know me well enough to judge my character, Isuzu, so let me tell you this: I go to any means to achieve things and I don't care _who _gets hurt in the process because what matters is that _I – get – what – I – want_."

Rin stared at him, unfazed. For some reason, Shigure's emotional tirade didn't surprise her too much.

"But what if the person who's getting hurt is Ayame?"

"Sacrifice is needed in order to achieve the good in things," Shigure bit out, eyes flashing.

"The good for _you_," Rin growled, temper rising. She stepped toward him, hands falling to her sides. "And now that you're here, having banged on Akito's door and woken half the compound, what're you to do?" She stepped closer, wind picking up her hair. "Now that you've just said you're giving up on this, what're you to do now? Now that you're giving this up, giving up this whole demented bargain with fate … you're giving up Ayame." She said the last statement with triumph, sneering.

Shigure snarled at her, just barely keeping himself from lashing out at a minor, a woman, a Jyunnishi and family member.

"There are other ways of gaining Ayame's love, Rin," he said, assuring himself more than anyone else. His hands clenched and unclenched. A quiet, lethal determination lay dormant in the depths of his eyes, waiting to be untimely released.

"Other ways that doesn't involve you risking your friendship with him?" she asked incredulously, casting around them a wild look, hoping no one would come out and check of the ruckus. "What kind of _idiot_ would risk _everything_ he has with someone, just to gain something that doesn't even seem _possible_?" She almost scoffed, becoming irritated with this face of Shigure. "Have you really gone insane, Dog?"

The manic gleam in Shigure's eyes quickly hid it self. Too slow for Rin.

"No, Horse," he said, smiling slowly. "Not there yet."

A distant crash, muffled by walls, sounded from inside. Both swiveled to the door, staring for a moment. In the split interval of initial puzzlement, Shigure's mind careened some years back.

_Hatori's eye. Blood. Heartfelt wails of shock and blame. Angry bellows of a God. _

Shigure started violently, shaking his head to clear it, suddenly sweating. Without a side-glance at Rin, he pounded the door again and, ramming into it thrice, successfully weakened the lock, splintering it. Both Dog and Horse went through; one shooting in and the other calmly walking, eyes steely, mouth set, heart humming.

* * *

Akito watched gleefully, smile growing ever wider as Kana gave a startled gasp then sob, a realization piercing through her like a knife through a baby's heart. She scrambled away, ignoring the pains that pricked her skin from the inside like a moth fleeing from a snuffed flame. Her eyes were wild with hurt and loss and blame. She whispered Hatori's name fervently under her breath, as though she needed herself to say it for him to be real, for him to be proven not an illusion.

Akito grew tired of her moping. She whispered something to Kureno. The Rooster nodded.

"Pathetic," she sniffed, looking down at the woman as the Rooster picked her up bodily from the ground. He held her limp form as straight as possibility allowed, emotions carefully veiled. His hands shook somewhat, but that was the extent of it.

Akito slapped Kana. The sound rang in the room. Hatori kept his eyes away, hands palm down on the floor, hair falling around his feverish face.

"You see, my perfect Dragon," she informed, tone akin to one commenting of idle things, "_this_ is your imperfection; your dirty streak that needs to be cleaned." She looked sharply at Kana who wept bitterly, eyes narrowed. "This filth – this _ugliness_. I was right in not allowing you relationship to go on further." She cast an indifferent glance at Hatori, eyes lingering on the partially blinded eye, hidden from view. Her stare wandered back to the sorry expanse of Kana's face, edges of her mouth curling upward. "Only _I _am allowed to keep my imperfection by my side, Hatori. You cannot share the role of God with me. The Dragon is below my status, and you will act accordingly."

She walked to the hunched form, gait sensual. Her slight figure bent over him, almost motherly. With careful grace and gentleness, she tilted Hatori's head, cupping his chin. Her eyes flashed disappointingly at the brokenness in the ones she looked into. She frowned.

"You're showing emotion, Hatori," she observed lightly, bringing her other hand to caress his face. "Remember back … _you're as cold as ice_."

Hatori didn't flinch. He didn't speak. He didn't blink. He scarcely breathed.

"I don't know why you're being so cold to _me_, my Dragon," she whispered, leaning down further to kiss him, eyes possessive. "The only time you've done this was when … when …" Akito straightened a little and cast a quick look at Kana, who remained in Kureno's grip, head bowed, spirit wasted. She looked back at Hatori, searching quickly and thoroughly in his face a wild emotion, an untamable feeling. She was on the brink of a discovery, both knew it. Hatori failed to hide his innermost troubles the moment she pierced her stare into his soul.

Akito saw right through him.

"You're in love with the Snake," she spat, disgusted. Her hands fell away from his face as though she had been stung. An ugly expression contorted her deathly pretty face. She turned on her heel and threw instructions carelessly over her shoulder at Kureno as she passed him, punishment for several people already simmering in her mind.

"Let both of them go. Keep Hatori in this house and fix him. Let the mistake out."

Akito slammed the door shut, disturbing a vase set on the table beside the door, upending it.

* * *

"_A bargain, Shigure? Hmm. This is new."_

"_Yes, Akito."_

_Ruffling of robes. Indifference._

"_And what of this bargain? Do you expect me to agree to it?"_

"_I expect nothing, Akito."_

_Belittling stare._

"_Keep it short. I don't like wasting my time."_

_Immediate obedience. Monotonously._

"_I know that you love Hatori."_

_Akito's eyes flashed, but she kept still. _

_"And I know that you think Ayame is in the way." _

_Shigure ignored the emotion stabbing to be let out of him. He continued, composure level. "If you like, Akito, I will keep Ayame away from Hatori."_

_She seemed interested. Predator versus prey._

"_You want something in return." Statement; half-mocking._

_Hesitantly._ "_Only that you relinquish your hold over the Jyunnishi children, and Ayame."_

_Akito was incensed._

"_That is **absurd**!" she shrieked, leaping from her place by the window sill. She strode to Shigureandstopped a meter away from him. The journey there made her breathless, lungs not used to such quick activity. Her delicate hands quivered from fury. "Do you think I will give up my power as God to have your unrequited love returned?" She stepped once and slapped him, barely restraining herself from doing more. Shigure remained quiet. "You are sadly mistaken, Shigure." Her voice settled to a low hiss, doused with mockery and contempt. She looked at him furiously for a moment before her eyes unclouded and cleared, replaced by a different emotion._

_She smiled._

_Silence._

_She walked back to the window sill, strides measured; slow and sure. The caress of hair on shoulder whispered of secrets and betrayal. Though Shigure could not see, Akito smile's widened, stretching to her eyes. It made her beauty rise to a painful notch, with her malice just a little higher._

"_This is a fine bargain, Shigure," she commented lightly after a while, settling herself down again. Her fingers toyed with her robes idly, like a slender finger running over curls. The air was a warm coldness around Akito; a tense, suffocating cloud around Shigure. "If you can manage your end of this …" She gazed at him, smiling slightly. "Well, I'll have to try my best for mine, won't I?"_

_Her hand went up, palm facing him. She waved it once._

_Shigure left the room, heart elated and spirit burdened._

* * *

White Carnation - remembrance 


End file.
